


The Scorpion and the Frog

by AnotherAzia (Azia)



Category: Rides With Strangers (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings May Apply, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28103961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azia/pseuds/AnotherAzia
Summary: “It reminds me of the story of the Scorpion and the Frog. Are you familiar with that?”“Um, yeah, about the river or something? Doesn’t the scorpion kill the frog at the end?”“There’s more to it than that, but yes.”“Yeah, sorry, I don’t think I really remember that one. Care to refresh my mind?”“It is a beautiful parable about how it is difficult to act against one’s own nature. You see, the scorpion promised the frog not to sting it if the frog assisted it in crossing the river, but the scorpion stung it anyway, because it is only in the scorpion’s nature to sting.”(Originally aTumblr exclusivefrom 2016.)
Relationships: Elora Silverman/The Father | Donald McArthur (Rides with Strangers)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	The Scorpion and the Frog

Things had been going so well.

Elora no longer sat in place with her ankle resting over her knee, no longer picked at the loose skin around her cuticles, no longer listened in on everyone’s conversations because she couldn’t initiate or maintain any of her own. She spoke up now, could hold her end of the deal without her voice quivering and her eyes going off into space. Her skin around her nails and lips remained unpicked, unbitten, and intact. She sat without closing herself off. Everything was finally better. Everything was okay.

Her car wouldn’t start. She spoke too soon.

“Great,” she muttered to herself as she stepped out. “Perfect.” Well, she couldn’t belittle the automobile too much. It was her age exactly. Twenty-three years ago, her father had given her mother a baby, and as an apology, he gave her a car. Then seven years later, he left her mother with the baby and the car. Sixteen years later, the baby got the car and she had driven it ever since.

Her mother never drove the car. They lived in such a small town, so her mother preferred to walk or take her Uncle Earl’s car when needed. Elora remembered when she first drove it and how it smelled like the conglomerate of what she remembered of her father: a reek of citrus that tried to hide the smell of cigarettes and fish. Even now – though the scent was faint and Elora almost masked it with her own scent of cheap coffee and leather – an image of her father always came to mind. The image was frozen in time of his thick mustache and beard, and the cigarette that huffed and puffed while it hung from his bottom lip. How he would trudge seawater into the house and her mother would fuss over it in the evening. How he would stub his cigarette on the same blackened spot on the counter and then grab an orange from the fruit bowl in the morning. (His favorite fruit was oranges. Her mother didn’t buy them anymore.)

Elora looked at the car. It would have sentimental value if her father left anything sentimental about it. And besides, Elora didn’t consider herself to be a sentimentalist. She sighed as she went to rummage through the backseat. She pulled on her hoodie – Dartmouth green! – and took out her bag. She had packed lightly. She wasn’t expecting to get stuck in Stewartstown. Shit, she wasn’t even out of Coös County. What luck.

On that note, Elora slung her bag over her shoulder and got to walking.

She heard a car behind her. She turned around. A car? Really? At – she glanced down at her watch – _eleven at night_? Only certain people were out so late at night. She knew what kind of person she was. Now, who was this person?

Elora stood off to the side of the road, thumb out. That’s how hitchhiking worked, right? Well, it must have. The car was slowing down. It was blue. Looked new. She couldn’t see the driver through the darkness very well.

Her heart raced as they pulled up in front of her. Showtime. The window rolled down to reveal an older, balding white dude with bifocals and a clerical collar. She held back a smile. Looks like it was going to be a long ride with Padre tonight.

He pushed his glasses up his nose as he turned his head toward her. She leaned against the car window, humored. “Good evening, child,” he said. His voice was all low and gravelly. Ooh, how ominous. “What are you doing out here?”

She pointed down the road. “My car finally gave out on me.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Um, I wanted to take a stop at Hanover before going to Sugar Hill, but that’s adding about another hour to the drive.” She tapped her fingers against the car door. “I don’t want to ask for too much here.”

“No, no. It’s fine. No journey is ever too long when one needs to reach their destination.” He moved to unlock the car door then patted the passenger seat. “Here, take a seat and let me give you a ride.” Elora hesitated for just a second as her hand reached for the handle, then she bit back her reluctance. It didn’t matter anymore. She hopped into the car.

The seat was scratchy against her bare legs. The weather was _wonderful_ that time of year (and she meant that in the most sarcastic way possible) – shorts in the daytime, hoodies at night. He locked the doors again before he started to drive off. She took a quick glance back at her car. She wondered if her mother and uncle would care if she abandoned it or not. It was a harsh reminder of the past. She always caught the way her mother would quickly veer away whenever Elora parked in the driveway and how her uncle would stare at it before he would start to wash it.

Elora took in the current vehicle she was in. It wasn’t citrusy and smoky. She could make out mothballs and whiskey all overpowered by mint. She glanced over at the man. It looked like he was chewing on something. Possibly mint. Looking down at the cup holders in between them, they were both filled with plastic-wrapped mints that somehow managed to balance a pink-paged Bible on top.

“This is a dangerous place to be hitchhiking,” he said. “What is a precious, young thing such as yourself doing out here so late, trying to go to Sugar Hill?”

“Well, this is a dangerous place to pick up hitchhikers too, you know.”

“I have the Lord to protect me.” _Right_. She decided to play it up.

“But if you must know, I am a lost sheep who is going through the burden of life and I have seemed to have gone astray from my flock.” She looked over at him again. Looked like he was eating it up.

“The Lord has brought you to me for a reason, then,” his voice dropped an octave, “and we shall discover it.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, I am Father Donald Earl McArthur, Jr. My services spread from Grafton County to Coös County. And you?”

“Wow, your middle name is Earl? So is mine. Elora Earl Silverman, at your service.”

“Elora _Earl_ Silverman?”

“Well, my name was Elora Alexandria Smith, but I changed it to Elora Earl Silverman after my mother, Bette Silverman, and my Uncle Earl. You see, my father’s name was Alexander Smith and he, uh, had to, um, _leave_ when I was younger. So I thought that it was only appropriate to dedicate my name to the real people who raised me, you know?”

“I see. But why not Elora _Bette_ Silverman?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like Earl. It’s controversial.”

“We have quite a ways ahead of us.” The road did seem to stretch on forever ahead of them. “May I ask: where is it that you are traveling to?” Shit. _Make up an excuse, make up an excuse…_

“I am… I’m just running away sort of, I guess you can say.”

“How perfect.” She frowned. “Er, um, I mean, I would love to offer my home to you, child, if you need it. My services are unlimited.”

“Um, no, that’s okay. I have a home, but thank you. So, what about you?”

“I just needed to get away…” She didn’t have a response for that.

Elora turned toward the window again and looked at the trees going by. A car stopping in the middle of an endless road by the forest had to be the best case scenario for a horror story. And getting in the car with some creepy priest with a monotonous voice and vague responses? That was just the icing on the cake.

She could feel his eyes on her, sizing her up. She resisted turning around.

“I can tell by the way you are dressed and present yourself, and from the explanation behind your name, that you have ones that love you.” He gave a deep sigh. “I was forsaken at birth by my mother and was raised by fathers who are no longer with us. Now, what would your mother and your uncle think if they knew that you were hitchhiking?” She rolled her eyes. Hopefully he couldn’t see her reflection in the window.

“They probably would be happy I got picked up by you and not some creep.” She didn’t mean for her voice to drip in sarcasm. “And besides, this isn’t my first time!”

“How precocious. I like that.”

“Do you now?” She murmured. She guessed that he didn’t catch that. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him fixing his mouth to say something else. She wasn’t sure if she would prefer more conversation or silence. She could survive the latter. She was used to marinating in awkwardness. But the _new_ Elora wasn’t. The _new_ Elora tackled things head-on.

“Funny how this world is, how God has set this path in front of me. You see, I have this… _itch_ —this itch I can’t control. This itch that I _must_ scratch.” She looked over at him. His fingers were clenching and unclenching on the wheel. “I try to run away from it, but it just brings me to you.” _Uh oh_. “It reminds me of the story of the Scorpion and the Frog. Are you familiar with that?” Well, Father certainly was the conversationalist.

“Um, yeah, about the river or something? Doesn’t the scorpion kill the frog at the end?”

“There’s more to it than that, but yes.”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t think I really remember that one. Care to refresh my mind?”

“It is a beautiful parable about how it is difficult to act against one’s own nature. You see, the scorpion promised the frog not to sting it if the frog assisted it in crossing the river, but the scorpion stung it anyway, because it is only in the scorpion’s nature to sting.”

“Okay, now that we got that out of the way, what do you mean by ‘itch’? What are you, uh, _implying_ here, Father?”

“Nothing, child.” He slowly shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Um, okay then?”

“Anyways, I have made a vow with God to purge the heretics of this world. In exchange, He suppresses the itch. So it has come time to ask: are you a God-fearing woman, Elora Earl Silverman?” He was no longer clenching the steering wheel so tightly. Well, that was a good sign. Maybe. Maybe this mess of a conversation was turning toward the better. Now, was Elora going to amuse him or herself?

She decided to go with the safe route: “Not enough people are today, honestly.”

“Yes, how astute. They will be though, once my work is finished.” He cleared his throat again. “Now, tell me, what is the worst thing that you have ever done?”

“What is this, a confessional?” She tried to release a laugh into the atmosphere. But by the way he was looking at her from the corner of his eye, he wasn’t buying it. “Um, I guess I’ve hurt people before—but doesn’t everybody?”

“Yes, we all have, child.”

“So, what about you, Father? What have you done?”

“If you must know, I have killed, raped, and tortured many. Little boys were my passion, but I pray to God to forgive and cleanse me. I have honestly tried to change my focus.”

“Um… Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” She grabbed at the neck of her hoodie to air out some. It didn’t do much. She reached over and rolled the window down. The cool summer air brought some ease to her burning cheeks. “Mind if I turn on the AC, Father?”

“It is broken.”

“Great.”

“A person’s faith can determine the outcome of their lives, as in the scripture of James 1:3. You know the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason, or is it all just the natural product of chaos?” What Elora did not expect was to be interrogated. She just wanted to go to Hanover and then to Sugar Hill in peace. Silence seemed like a better option after all.

“I don’t know. Some people win the lottery and some people die hungry.”

“Yes, He works in mysterious ways,” he murmured.

“But my faith is unbreakable.”

“Then you are truly blessed. I’ve asked God to give me a weary soul, and here you are. I guess that I am blessed also.” He turned to her, smiling. “And the four angels were loosed,” he said, voice rising, “which were prepared for an hour, and a day, and a month, and a year, for to slay the third of men. Will you be ready for His judgment?” His grin was wilting at the ends as his voice came down.

“Yeah, I made sure to put in a good word with Him just for that particular event you’re talking about.”

“Really, now?” She nodded. “Then you should have nothing to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried in the first place.” She looked out the window again. There were so many stars out that night. She found herself reaching out toward the radio. Apparently, just like the air conditioning, it was broken too. No music meant another invitation for more conversation. Perfect.

“Mentioning my mother and fathers earlier brought me back to the days of my youth, the days I spent in the church in the hands of my fathers. It is truly such a pleasure to share the road with such young company.” He pushed his glasses up his nose again.

“I’m glad I could be of company then, Father.” Elora hugged her bag to her chest. The night air wasn’t helping.

“I feel as though we are building a bond with each other already.”

“Well, spending about the next three and a half hours on the road together in the middle of the night could do that to a person, I assume.”

“Yes. I will like to get something off of my chest, then.” She looked at him again. His knuckles were white on the wheel and his jaw was clenched. His eyes didn’t stray from the road as he spoke, “As a young boy I was… I was _touched_ by the fathers of my childhood.” Elora froze in her seat. “They touched me in a way that made me feel… _loved_. When you were a child, were you ever touched the same way that I was?”

Why was he telling her this? “H-How vague,” she chuckled. “Define ‘touched,’ Padre.” That cursed tinge of nervousness was creeping back into her voice. _Old_ Elora was not going to make an appearance tonight. She took in a slow and steady breath and let the crisp, cool breeze do its job. She tried to release her grip on her bag some.

“The brief amount of history that you have given me about your father and the sudden evasion to my question gives me all the reason to believe that you wer—”

She cut him off, “Would you like to touch _me_ , Father?” She leaned in toward him, over the Bible and mints, and touched his arm. “Is that why you keep bringing it up, hm? Do you always take in young girls, tell them the good tearjerkers from your past, offer your home to them, and then have them crying Hail Mary in the backseat?” He still wouldn’t look at her. “Did I hit it on the head or did I miss it completely?”

“Answer my question,” his voice was all breathy, “and we shall see.”

She leaned back into her seat again and crossed her arms. “…Yes. You guessed right.” They were entering a tunnel. The car bounced suddenly. She almost dropped her bag. They must have hit a rock or something, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, my, my, my,” he breathed out. “My child, what are you doing to me?” She held her tongue. He was driving slower in the tunnel. She wished she could see the night sky again. She felt like she was suffocating. It was his turn to lean closer to her. “You smell so… fresh. Are you wearing perfume?”

“No.” She didn’t mean for her voice to get all quiet.

“Good. Perfume is for whores and it will be a thing of the past after I purge the whores and heretics of the world under the name of God.” Elora could protest to that. He was practically breathing down her neck, making her body shiver. They were still inside the damn tunnel. “Oh, to be young again. Such a blessing and a curse.” He took one hand off of the wheel and it found its way into her hair somehow. He twined a strand around his finger. “Although our time together is short, I believe that it will be memorable.” She raised an eyebrow at that.

“How so?”

“You’ll see.” He stopped the car. The lights turned off. “This will only take a moment.” He reached out to her and touched her cheek. His fingers were cold and calloused and made the hairs on her neck stand on end. “I won’t be long,” he promised. He then unbuckled his seatbelt and left.

Elora found herself looking out of the window after him. He was going to the trunk. A sudden gust of warmth ran through the air. In a good-sized clearing of the forest, there was a bonfire raging high. The Father’s back was toward her. Whatever he had taken out of the trunk, he was taking it toward the fire. She bit her lip and tried to settle back into her seat. She wasn’t going to Coös County ever again if she made it through the night.

She looked around the car. There wasn’t much to it. The most exciting feature was the mint collection. She reached out toward the glove compartment. It was locked. How odd.

She made sure to straighten up when he returned to the car. “Welcome back, Father.” Something had shifted in the atmosphere between them. It couldn’t go amiss. He started up the car again. “Uh, tell me about your childhood, Padre.” Their elbows touched on the armrest in between them. Neither of them moved away. “You said you were raised in a church and you were forsaken at birth by your mother or something?”

“Yes. My mother wa—”

“Sorry to interrupt, but could you tell me her name? Whenever I hear people’s names, I like to guess what they look like and see if I’m right or not.”

“Really?” She nodded. “What a fun game. My mother’s name was Clair Evans Johnson. When she married she added on the name Johnson. She was never a ‘McArthur.’”

“‘Clair’ gave me French vibes at first, but then when you said ‘Evans’ I got British ones instead. You know, Clair is a really popular name in the UK and Evans is one of the top last names of Wales, if I remember correctly. Clair Evans sounds like the girl who just stepped off the boat, all dreamy eyed with the hope of a new land, and then Clair Evans _Johnson_ sounds like she settled into the New Hampshire housewife culture of the ‘40s and ‘50s.”

“You ‘hit it on the head,’ as you would say.”

“Oh really? That’s cool.” Some of the tension lifted off of her shoulders. “I see her as having lots of curly, brown hair and wearing bright red lipstick all the time, maybe? And she liked to wear lots of pastel colors and dresses, too?”

“Correct.”

“I’m really good at this! Okay, now give me the fathers’ names.”

“Father Laurence, Father John, and Father Ashley.”

“Well, Father Laurence sounds like he wore a lot of brown, maybe, and had silver hair. Father John had brown, no, _black_ hair and was really tall. And Father Ashley sounds like he was blond and had rosy cheeks.”

“Once again, correct.”

“Ooh, what’s my prize for getting these all right, Father? More glorious anecdotes?”

“If you so desire.” He moved his hand from the wheel and rested his arm fully next to hers on the armrest. “My mother’s parents had moved from Wales to New Hampshire when she was around four years old. She was eighteen years old in the fall of ‘63 when she met my father, Donald Earl McArthur, Sr., who was two years older than her. They conceived me in Orange just a few months later in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion.” His hand gripped her arm on “passion.” “And so my very pregnant mother ran away to Franconia in the summer of ‘64 and came upon a church where she left me at first. If her parents and neighbors discovered that she had gotten herself impregnated while unwed…” He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “All Hell would have broken loose.”

“Yes. The sixties were scandalous.”

“And so at first, my mother left me at the hands of the fathers. I was raised by the church community in the ‘Sons of Our Father’ program where I learned to become a priest. I was such a pure, innocent, youthful young boy—but looking back on my childhood photographs, I have noticed that there was always a slight look of worry on my face. But most of my characteristics were of innocence.”

“So your mother came back for you?”

“Yes, she came back for me. In the summer of ’78, she returned to me on my fourteenth birthday. She took me to Orange and introduced me to my father and grandparents for the first time. I was at first happy to be reunited with her. My mother had remarried to James Johnson, Sr., an engineer from the neighborhood, just eight years before, and had my half-brother, James Johnson, Jr.—whom we address as Jimmy to differentiate between the two. My father never remarried, but he had another daughter: my half-sister, Dakota McArthur, in 1975. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with my mother, my father, my step-father, and new siblings, but I found myself traveling back and forth between Orange and Franconia.”

“And you still go back and forth between them to this day, huh?”

“Yes, I guess I do.” His grip on her loosened some. “Later on, Jimmy went on to marry a nice girl from the neighborhood, Susan, and just five years ago they had their twins, Preston and Peyton.” The Father briefly released her to open up his Bible. Inside, Elora could see a photograph of the Father, smiling widely (but it seemed fake), holding a boy and a girl on each of his knees. The girl was wearing his glasses and the boy was frowning. “I was married also for a brief time to a girl named Delilah Young. She was from Sugar Hill, actually. We have a daughter together, Katherine Clair McArthur-Young. Her name used to be simply Katherine McArthur, but just like you, she changed it to honor the true women who raised her. I’m afraid that I was too preoccupied with my work to really be a good husband and father. The marriage only lasted a year. I was about eighteen or so at the time, I believe.”

“How old is your daughter now?”

“Eighteen years old. She has just graduated from high school this year.”

“Wow, class of ’99, huh? I was class of ’94.” She found herself squeezing his hand as she laughed. They were finally turning a corner and getting somewhere now. “It’s kinda weird that I’m closer to your daughter’s age than yours, huh?”

“I believe that you are my sister’s age, actually. Are you twenty-three years of age?”

“Yes. Did you say that her name was Dakota McArthur?”

“Yes.”

“I went to school with her actually! How weird is that? I think she mentioned that her brother was a priest a couple of times, too.” Elora shook her head. “It’s a small world after all.”

“Yes. And it feels even smaller with you, Elora Earl.”

He was slowing down. There were some buildings around, cutting through the trees. He was turning and pulling in to what looked like a roadside diner. The neon signage on the front was barely lit, but the lights were on in the establishment and it looked like there were a few people inside. “Do you wish to get something to eat before we continue on our way, child?” She squeezed his hand.

“Sure, why not? As long as you’re paying.”

†

The diner looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the sixties: black and white tiled floors, a counter with stools, Elora spotted a milkshake machine in the kitchen, and there was even a jukebox in the corner of the room. The heater must have been cranked to the maximum, because she felt an immediate blast of pure hot air hit her. The owners were definitely not fans of the cool nights.

The door gave a little jingle too as she walked in. Through the heat, she could smell grease. A waitress with pretty white teeth, dark skin, and red lipstick jumped out of nowhere and waved to them. “Hi and welcome to the 13th Street Roadside Diner! Can I show you two to some seats?”

“Yeah, of course,” Elora answered.

“Right this way!” The waitress took them to a table near the jukebox. She whistled to them before they sat down. “Late date?” She asked, gesturing toward their joined hands. Elora didn’t even notice that they were still handholding. She tried to let go, but the Father’s grip tightened all of a sudden.

“You could call it that,” he murmured. He then went to pull out a chair for Elora. A priest _and_ a gentleman? She hit the jackpot tonight. He pushed in the chair too before he took his own seat. The waitress handed over two menus. The list was pretty simple: burgers, fries, soda, and shakes.

“Can I get a…?” Elora wanted to order the whole menu. She felt like she hadn’t eaten since she had first hit the road in her own car. The last meal she had, now that she thought about it, was some lame, unflavored ramen noodles and half a can of Pepsi that she had stolen from the breakroom. She held her hand over her stomach in an attempt to silence it as it rumbled. Her mouth was already watering from the images of food dotted all over the menu. “Um, a cheeseburger with lettuce and tomatoes and onions—just the whole shebang—and a Coke too? No ice, please. And then…” She was eyeing the price on the milkshakes. The Father _had_ agreed to pay for everything despite her joke, but—

“Get whatever you desire, child.” Elora had to smile at that.

“Okay. And a large chocolate shake too.”

“With whipped cream and a cherry on top?” Elora nodded. The waitress wasn’t holding a pen and pad to take their orders, but there wasn’t too much variety to begin with. Her smile widened after the Father said that he simply just wanted some water to drink. “Okay, I’ll be back soon!”

“Thanks,” Elora read the name embroidered across the waitress’ shoulder, “Addie.”

“Oh no, no. I’m not Addie.” She laughed. “I’m Mary Jayne. I spilled coffee all over myself earlier and this was the only clean uniform. Sorry for the inconvenience.” She took their menus and left with a smile and a wave.

Elora drummed her fingers across the tabletop. She had really let her nails grow out. She was usually one to cut them or get a manicure. If they got too long in the past, she would end up biting them off from anxiety, anyway. She liked the little sound her nails made as they clicked against the table. Maybe she should have tried growing them out before.

“Elora.” Elora stopped and looked up. “I have spoken plenty about my past tonight.” He took out a mint from his pocket, popped it into his mouth, and then tucked the plastic wrapper back into his pocket. “Tell me about your history. I am very curious.”

“Well, there isn’t much to know about me.” She shrugged. “I was born and raised in Sugar Hill. Um, my mom and uncle still live there and I don’t think they’ve ever moved. You know about my father.” She heard him crack open the mint in his mouth at that. “He was from Vermont. Montpelier, actually. He was a fisherman supposedly, so I guess that’s why he came to New Hampshire since he’s always traveling around. I think he met my mom in a bar that she worked at or something, and then it wasn’t long before I was born. And then, um, they tried the whole marriage thing, but it didn’t really work out for them either. They were pretty young, too. And my father was just a little off. After my mother caught him in my room one night…” Elora sighed. “She packed up and moved in with her brother, my Uncle Earl, and the rest is history. That car I was driving actually was a gift of his to my mother. She, like, never drove it, so she just gave it to me. Old thing finally gave out today, I suppose.”

“You have mentioned that you went to school with my sister?”

“Yup. Dartmouth for the win.” She gestured toward the logo on her hoodie. “Speaking of which, I’m actually getting kind of hot. Do you mind if I just take this off really quick?” Elora was actually even starting to bead sweat on her brow.

“Not at all, child. Do what you must.”

“Thanks.” She went to pull the hoodie off. She then tied it around her waist and ran her fingers through her hair, making sure that it hadn’t gotten too messed up. “Yeah,” she said, still attempting to straighten her hair, “I’m the first one to go to college in my family _and_ an Ivy League school, too. Did you know that Dartmouth is the smallest of the schools?”

“No, I did not know that.”

“Well, it is. My thing was art. Afterwards, I became an art administer or manager, whatever it’s called. Meaning I just managed stuff at museums and, you know, places with art departments that need to be managed. And then a couple of years into it, I decided that it wasn’t for me, hence the whole ‘running away’ thing I’m doing.”

“Mhm, I see now.” Looked like he had finished his mint. He was pushing up his glasses, suddenly quiet. She raised an eyebrow. What was wrong now?

Elora looked down at herself. Maybe her outfit was too revealing by his standards. But he had already seen her shorts and didn’t read her off for that (like he surely would have if she said that she was wearing _perfume_ of all things), and she was only wearing a simple black tank top. It wasn’t like her top was too tightfitting and she was spilling cleavage everywhere or anything. Was it the sudden exposure of the shoulders? His eyes were trailing up and down her bare arms. Elora thought that not being allowed to show shoulders in school was idiotic, but it looked like boys really did get hot and heavy over a little shoulder action. Maybe the rule only applied to reclusive priests, actually.

She could see his hand start to reach out toward her, but the waitress returned, and he halted his movements. “An ice cold water for you, sir.” She placed the glass in front of him. It was filled to the brim with ice and was already perspiring all over the table. “And then we got a cheeseburger with everything, some hot and salty fries, an ice cold Coca-Cola, and a nice chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on top for the missus.” Elora’s mouth was watering all over again. Mary Jayne winked at them. “Enjoy your night, you two.”

Elora paced herself while eating. Pigging out in front of the Father didn’t seem like the best idea, especially when he was just sitting there watching her eat while he only had a cup of water for himself. She couldn’t help her smile as he passed a bottle of ketchup her way before she could reach for it. She appropriately drizzled it over her French fries and then licked her fingers as she replaced the cap on the bottle again. She swore that she could hear the Father give a quiet sigh.

“You’ve been kinda quiet. Got something on your mind, Padre?”

“My mind is in a constant state of disarrangement.” He glanced away. “Especially now.” Wasn’t she the weary soul that had blessed him, though? She didn’t understand the sudden mood swing.

Elora looked behind her. The jukebox wasn’t on. The only people in the diner now were Mary Jayne and the only cook there. Mary Jayne was spinning around in the stool by the counter and chatting with the cook. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind. Elora took the last quick bite of her burger and jumped to her feet. Luckily she had some coins in her pocket. She just blindly picked the first song she saw. Anything would do. It happened to be a slower tune with a woman’s voice that she didn’t recognize, singing melancholic lines, but it looked like the Father appreciated her efforts. His eyes didn’t leave her direction as she returned to her seat.

“I can relate to that, actually.” She got started on finishing the rest of her fries. “The whole mind being disarranged thing. I don’t know how many times I let my thoughts take over tonight. Sorry about that.”

“It is fine. Being lost in one’s thoughts or taking a brief absentminded venture from time to time isn’t too bad for the soul. Being lost in a daydream can be forgiven if your mind is in the correct place when you do so.”

“That was actually a pretty nice thing to say, Father.”

“It was something that I was taught as a child.” He took a slow sip of his drink. Elora realized it might have been his first sip. She had proven to be a pretty decent distraction thus far. “But not something that I specifically have believed in. I have tried for my mind to never stray, but it seems to do so against my wishes.”

“Aw, Father.” She had polished off her fries. Now on to the drink. “It’s normal to get lost in your thoughts from time to time. It’s one of the things about being human, you know.”

“Yes. I can understand that.” He turned his eyes away from her and was watching the ice cubes bob up and down in his water. “I have just not had any reason to daydream when I was a boy or even now, child. I always have focused on other things.”

“That’s… kinda sad, actually.” Coke done. Now on to the milkshake. Elora took out the cherry and began to lick the cream off of it. “A kid having no reason to dream seems utterly depressing. Did this priest program you were talking about take all of your attention?”

“Yes…” He was looking at her again. She slowly bit into the cherry (no pit, thank goodness – but they didn’t usually put cherries with pits in milkshakes anyway, right?) and returned his gaze. She wasn’t going to let some ice steal the show away from her. “Yes,” he repeated. “Whenever I was being naughty, my punishment was to rewrite a book from either the Old or New Testaments by hand. It would take me all of the day and my hand would cramp all of the night, and I often found myself contemplating running away as I cried when I went to bed at night with one of the fathers. Then, I did not know exactly what was happening to me, only that they were… That they were _loving me_ to a point that I could no longer reciprocate.”

“Oh.” She jabbed her straw through the creamy mess of her milkshake. “Alright, from now on when you’re around me, you’re not allowed to talk about the past anymore. I mean, I don’t know why you’re telling some girl that you just met on the side of the road your autobiography—but then again, I’m trusting some man that I met on the side of the road to take me to another county.” She tried to flash him a reassuring grin before she took another sip of her shake. “Live in the present with me, Father. Like you said, our time together is going to be short, but memorable. Thinking about other things too much is not going to make it memorable, now is it?”

“My, my,” he said with a creeping grin, “I believe that this is the most that you have spoken tonight.”

“You bought me an entire meal _with_ dessert. I think you deserved a little Elora-style pep talk.” She stretched her leg out and sought out his. It wasn’t too hard to locate. They were sitting pretty closely and the table was small. She ran the toe of her shoe up his leg. She could see him tense, but she continued to drink her milkshake and gave an innocent bat of the eye to top it off. His eyes were dead set on hers now. “Hm? Do I have something on my face, Father?”

“No, child. You do not.”

She ran her finger over the rim of her glass to collect any stray whipped cream. “That’s good.” She licked her finger again. She had him now. (Or was it he who had her?) “I’m done eating.”

“Would you like to order something else or shall we return to the car?” _The look on his face…_

“No, I’m full. Thank you for everything. Are you sure that you don’t want me to pay?” He was already standing up and taking out a roll of bills from his pocket. Well, Padre walked around with stacks in his pockets? How intriguing.

Elora waved goodbye to Mary Jayne and the cook. The waitress smiled and waved back and the cook just nodded. “Hey, could you tell me what city we’re in?” Elora asked them.

“Welcome to Columbia!” Mary Jayne answered.

Elora sighed and glanced toward the Father. He was still being eerily quiet. “Oh, looks like we’re still in Coös County. It’s about an hour and a half from Columbia to Sugar Hill, I think. And, hey, I’m knocking Hanover off the list because I’m feeling nice tonight.” The Father wasn’t even looking at her. She frowned, but wiped the expression off her face when she turned back around. “Anyways, goodnight guys.” She waved to the diner’s staff one more time.

Elora actually missed the heat of the diner when she stepped outside again. She shivered and took a step closer to the Father. “It’s still pretty cold out,” she said absently. He hummed in agreement. Going back in the car, she made sure to lean in toward him on the armrest. “You sure do like mints, huh?” She gestured toward all the mints nearly spilling out of the cup holders.

“The scent masks the odor of decay.”

“But of course.”

“The fathers who raised me also gave me a mint whenever I had done something worth rewarding.”

“Hey, hey! What did I say about talking about the past?”

“My apologies, child.” They got going. “I am afraid that you have exhausted me of topics.”

“You? Exhausted of topics? That’s laughable.” She patted his arm. “I mean, the only things you talked about were God, your past, or a combination of the two. That’s, uh, kind of sad, Padre.”

“Sad?”

“I mean, what do you do for fun?”

“Purge.”

“That’s… That’s not a ‘fun’ activity. I meant, like, do you have hobbies? Do you have a garden or collect stamps or whatever?”

“I do not participate in either of those activities.”

“Figures. Do you have a pet?”

“I used to have a pet dog in my boyhood, but I have never had a pet in my adulthood nor did I allow my daughter to own one.”

“Okay, you can break the rule for a second now. Why no pets?”

“Father Laurence killed the dog after a fight between us and I have not desired to have a pet since.”

“Oh.” Elora patted his arm again. “I remember that my dad used to have a dog. I remember that it was really big, but I was a little kid back then, so maybe it wasn’t actually _that big_. He used to take the dog out fishing with him, I think. Hm, what was the dog’s name? It was…” She snapped her fingers as she tried to think about it. She felt the Father take a turn. They were still the only people on the road for the night. Elora thought there would be more people out on a Saturday night-slash-Sunday morning. “It was Sockeye, yeah! Because sockeye is a type of salmon or whatever. Yeah, Sockeye attacked me one time because my stupid two-year-old self thought it was a good idea to try to take food out of his mouth when he was eating it. My father couldn’t get rid of the dog, so he sent it back to Vermont, I think. I still have this scar from it.” She held up her arm so he could see it. “It’s kind of faded now and I guess my mind blocked out exactly what happened, but my mother wouldn’t let me get a dog ever.”

“Poor child.” He took one hand off the steering wheel and held her arm. “You do not deserve to suffer through such pain.” He intertwined their hands together. “Only heretics deserve to suffer.”

“Father,” she turned toward him, “what’s a ‘heretic’ by your definition?”

“A heretic is a person who practices heresy. A heretic is a man who lays with man, a woman who lays with woman, a man who becomes woman, a person who forsakes God for other false prophets and follow the sinful practices of demon lies.” He was gripping her hand tightly again. “They follow the force of nature as if it were their God, but nature is the creation of God, as said in the great book of Genesis. People fall victim to the greatest sin of greed and forsake everything else for their love of money.” _He’s getting all disgustingly preachy again_ , Elora thought. _He was probably better off being quiet and moody and mysterious._ “People fall victim to lust to sleep with other fornicators, and I call to the great scripture, it says: ‘Or do you not know that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived; neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers shall inherit the kingdom of God.’”

“So, by this grand definition you just gave me, do you classify me as a ‘heretic’ in your book?”

“You have been nothing but pleasurable company.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“All I have ever wanted since the earliest days of my youth was to cleanse this Earth of the heretics that walk it, and to urge others to join my purge. Daily, thousands and thousands across the globe join my fight ever since I have officially commenced this war.”

“I didn’t know that you had followers. I thought that this whole ‘purge’ was a one-man show.”

“One man can only do so much, child, but a herd, a _flock_ , can rock nations.”

“I can’t disagree with you there, honestly.” He stopped at a red light. Looks like there was at least one other person on the road with them tonight after all. “I guess we can call this your hobby then, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“So, are you going to church tomorrow? Or, should I say today, it must be after midnight.”

“Yes, I am due to deliver a sermon in Bethlehem for a morning service, Franconia for an afternoon service, and then Waterville Valley for Bible study.”

“Preaching in Bethlehem? How ironic.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“So, your services really _do_ spread from Grafton to Coös County.”

“Yes. Have you ever heard of ‘The Witch of Coös’ by Robert Frost?”

“No, I’m afraid I have not. You’re really full of poems and parables.”

“I spent much of my time reading in my youth, if you can imagine.”

“Then I guess you can’t tell me about this Frost poem then since you learned it in the past.” Elora chuckled. “Met any witches in Coös, though? Or am I the witch?”

“You are not a witch, nor a whore or a heretic.”

“Thanks, Father. I tried my damnedest not to be any of those things.”

†

Elora hit it in the head with the Father taking young girls in with some good tearjerkers from the past and having them cry Hail Mary in the backseat. Or maybe she was an exception? She didn’t care. Good thing she wasn’t particularly great friends with Dakota McArthur. (They were more like acquaintances from a friend of a friend type thing. They only really spoke when they were alone together at a house party or two.) She wondered if the girl even potentially cared about her friends fucking her brother anyway. Elora knew that he got around. She could tell by the way he moved.

Her hips were starting to ache and him digging his fingers into them wasn’t helping. Elora wasn’t expecting a pillow prince for the night, but oh well. “So,” she breathed out, right into his ear, “tell me how I’m not a ‘whore’ after this, Padre?” He was still wearing his collar for fuck’s sake.

“You—” She didn’t care.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I had sex Friday night, just for your information.” She could practically already feel the bruising from his fingertips settling in. “I’m not as precocious as you think.” She backed away from his ear and laughed. “I mean, this isn’t even the first time I fucked a stranger in their car in front of my house.”

“Child, y—”

“Shut up. Are you adding me to the list of victims after this? Did we only get this far because you can’t figure out how to properly categorize me as a ‘heretic’ yet?” She put both hands on his chest (he was still clothed; how unfair) and pulled herself closer to him, pressing her lips against his ear again. “Your dick is inside of a heretic right now, Father. Why are you denying it?”

He ran his fingers through her hair – _aw, what a kind gesture_ – and then pulled her head back – _never mind_. “Have you forgotten who I am?” She ground down in his lap, but he didn’t falter, didn’t even loosen his grip.

“You’re Father Donald Earl McArthur, who preaches and purges.” He moved his hand away from her hair and moved down to her cheek. He had touched her cheek the same way before he had left to go to that bonfire in the middle of the road. She leaned into his touch. “And I’m next.”

“You are not next.”

“Make me next.”

“Why do you wish to suffer pain?” She pressed her lips against his hand. “Are you a masochist?”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“I do not exactly feel any ounce of gratification from my own pain and suffering.”

“You got to be a sadist, at least.” She pressed his fingers against her lips. “I mean, I saw you tuck a knife into your pocket before we moved to the backseat. Are you going to cut me up into pretty little pieces and toss me into a bonfire too?”

“No. I was not initially planning on it, but…” He traced his fingers over her lips.

“I’m not stupid. I’m a fucking Ivy League alumnus.”

“Language, child.” She traced her tongue over the pad of his fingertips. Was this it? Was this finally it?

“My mother died in ’97, right after I graduated. My uncle moved to Carroll County after and then he was found dead in some alleyway in Ossipee just a couple of days ago.” Elora took his hand from her mouth, but he used it as an opportunity to tighten his grip on her scalp. “At first I wanted to go to Hanover to collect some stuff I left at school, but I realized that that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Elora.”

She braced her hands against his chest and moved off of him. Talking about dead family members certainly made a person take a detour on the road toward orgasm. He let go of her then. “I was working in the Coös Art Museum when I heard the news.” She leaned back against the window and groped around on the floor for her clothes. “And guess who told me the news to make it all better?” As she pulled her hoodie over her head, he was buttoning his pants and straightening out his clothes. She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “My father, back from the dead. Just after, what, almost twenty years of absolutely no contact whatsoever, he decides to show up to my job, unannounced, like nothing had ever happened. At first, he was telling me some bullshit about how he moved from Montpelier to Barre and has a girlfriend now and fishes all around the east coast. I told him to cut the crap and tell me what’s going on. He told me that they found Uncle Earl dead in Ossipee. He was passing through because that’s where his girlfriend’s family’s from and they were visiting for the summer. For some reason, he took it upon himself to be the one to tell me.”

“I… I do recall reading about an Elizabeth ‘Bette’ Silverman while I was browsing the obituaries before one of my services.” He rolled down the window. The crickets were chirping. “She was survived by a daughter and her brother from what I remember. But I do not recall her cause of death.”

“Not important,” Elora snapped. “All that matters is that after I called security on my father because we got into an argument, I gave the director a handie so that I could convince him to let me leave work early. I wanted to go to Sugar Hill as soon as possible. I just wanted to go home as soon as I could.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you desire to go home so badly?”

“Because…” She didn’t owe him an explanation. “Because I wanted to kill myself in the house. But I figured, hey, I’m in the car with some creepy dude who openly admitted to raping and torturing and killing little boys and dumped a body off into a fire during the middle of the trip— _and_ I get a free meal and some sex out of it?” She forced herself to laugh. “I figured that you’d kill me before the drive was up, but somehow along the way I actually got you to like me? Look at that. I’m always screwing things up, even _trying to get killed_ for fuck’s sake.”

“Child, if you are feeling lost or meek or if your soul is truly weary, then my home is still open for you.”

“Didn’t I already tell you no?”

“No need to be snappy with me, child.”

“I don’t know. I think there might be a need.” She held her arms out. “I’m offering myself to you here! Just do it already! I know that it isn’t too hard to kill somebody.”

“You know?”

“I mean…” She slowly lowered her arms. “I mean, you’ve done it before. My father’s done it before. I- _I’ve_ done it before. It’s not too hard to kill somebody.” She lunged toward him and tried to reach into his pocket, where the knife was tucked, but he pushed her back. “Just— _ugh_ —just fucking do it! I’m begging you!”

“You must be having second thoughts if you want for me to—”

“Then why the hell did you bring a knife back here if you didn’t want to kill me, huh?”

“I always carry protection with me.”

“Did you really think that I was going to hurt you?”

“There was a possibility, yes.”

“Goodbye.”

“And where are you headed?”

“Home.” She reached behind her to open the car door. “It’s been fun riding with you, Father, but I guess it’s time for me to go.” She was actually surprised that he just let her step out of the car without further protest. She went to the front seat to collect her bag.

“What will happen when you step into your house?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She slammed the car door shut behind her. She heard him move from the backseat to the front and then start to pull off. She may have heard a bit of hesitation in his step, but that didn’t matter.


End file.
